


a burning sky

by entrechat



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: First Kiss, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, Smoking, fire imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:28:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26434189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entrechat/pseuds/entrechat
Summary: He drapes his arms over the railing, trees growing in little planters on the sidewalk rustling with the breeze until it flows back up and circles around Motoya’s figure again.It’s a mindless hope that when the sun sets and the sky is lovingly adorned with bursts of orange and pink, Motoya will be able to breathe without feeling like his lungs are being filled with burning coals.
Relationships: Komori Motoya/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 20
Kudos: 142





	a burning sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fayetality](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fayetality/gifts).



> mind the tags  
> cw // recreational use of marijuana, smoke and fire imagery
> 
> this fic has art now!  
> [here](https://twitter.com/goatcrown/status/1305679525544472576?s=21) and [here](https://twitter.com/newttxt/status/1328858059494498305?s=21)
> 
> basically I just wanted to write a fic about smoking weed to encourage other writers to write about weed because it is an untapped gold mine and is fun, kudos and comments are appreciated, happy reading~
> 
> dyl-annotation: I WANNA SMOKE A BLUNT WITH THEM

A streak of bright afternoon sunlight falls directly onto Motoya’s eyes, brightening lakes of blue before he shuts them tightly in irritation.

Motoya sees red behind his closed eyelids, bursts of white accompanying the warmth basking on his skin. It fades to black again and when he opens his eyes Rintarou is leaning over him, effectively blocking the light. Motoya drinks in the shade and a lopsided grin appears on his face as he looks at the furrow on Rintarou’s brows.

“What?” Motoya asks, voice breaking on a short laugh.

Rintarou leans up, one hand finding a home on his hip. The light peeks around his figure and Motoya blindly grabs at his shirt to tug him back down, one eye squinting.

“It’s nearly forty degrees, we have no chuppets—“

“—which is your fault, asshole.” Motoya pokes out his tongue when Rintarou bats at his arm. Motoya still doesn’t let go of the hem, but the cherry red painting his tongue is fairly incriminating.

“Not to mention _you_ broke the AC. I’m this close to getting heat stroke, so distract me.”

The summer heatwave is never something Motoya finds himself looking forward to. He and the heat didn’t mix too well. Sure, it was nice to have an excuse to wear a shirt cut just enough that it showed off his dorsal muscles, but being able to actually feel sweat drag from his neck down his spine was less than ideal.

It was a misfortune that of all the ways to break an AC he had to do it from slipping and dropping a pitcher of water on it in the middle of the hottest days of the year.

“Well what did you have in mind, sweetheart?” Motoya teases, finally pushing Rintarou away from him so he could sit up straight on the couch.

Rintarou sneers in mock annoyance, baring his teeth for a moment before slipping out of Motoya’s sight and into his bedroom.

A warm breeze filters into the room from the newly opened balcony doors, coasting across Motoya’s sunburnt cheeks. He hums in what little relief it brings, breathing in the sweet smelling air and standing to chase it. His body moves on instinct, bare feet dragging across wood floors until he crosses the threshold of the balcony and the cool concrete pushes up through his soles. He drapes his arms over the railing, trees growing in little planters on the sidewalk rustling with the breeze until it flows back up and circles around Motoya’s figure again.

It’s a mindless hope that when the sun sets and the sky is lovingly adorned with bursts of orange and pink, Motoya will be able to breathe without feeling like his lungs are being filled with burning coals.

Motoya feels eyes on him and his head twitches to the side, adorned with a smirk that decorates his features with an expression all too sultry. He turns around and leans his back on the railing, spotting the split second where Rintarou seems to be pulling his mouth back into a line of indifference. Motoya blows air out of his mouth, a soft whistle, and grins brightly again when he sees what Rintarou has in his hand.

“It’s been a while.”

Rintarou nods in agreement, sitting in the patio chair and dropping a small red bag on the little table there. He moves through unzipping it and setting down the contents in such a meticulous manner even a stranger would know it’s something he’s done enough times to almost be a ritual. Motoya’s eyes never waver from Rintarou’s fingers. He watches it like it’s the first time all over again. Long fingers pulling out the grinder he’s used since Motoya met him, a baggie half full of the closest thing to superficial freedom, and blunt wraps.

Something drags down Motoya’s chest and whether it's whatever foreign emotion he’s experiencing or beads of sweat slipping down his sternum he doesn’t know. Either way Motoya’s mind fixates on the feeling. Even then, his eyes don’t stop watching.

Motoya watches Rintarou’s hands like they’re the most important thing in the world.

Another gust of air pushes up the back of Motoya’s shirt and he sighs. The world seems to be moving him without his volition once more, propelling him off the railing and sitting him down on the second chair, leaning back and letting his ankle hook around Rintarou’s. He finds himself mesmerized in the methodical way Rintarou twists the grinder, how he places utmost care in the way he wets the edge and lays out a line on the paper. The tips of his fingers barely touch the edge before Motoya’s own hands twitch to reach over. He holds back just long enough to let Rintarou roll, face a picture of ease.

Motoya finds it amusing that Rintarou seems to be the most relaxed when he’s rolling a blunt of all things.

Before Rintarou can reach for the lighter, Motoya swipes it out of his bag first. Rintarou drags his tongue over his teeth and gives Motoya a look that says, _really?_

Motoya shoots back his own look that says, _really._

Rintarou sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, reaching across the table to hold out the blunt for Motoya. He flicks at the lighter a few times experimentally, then holds the flame steady. His free hand lightly wraps around Rintarou’s wrist to keep his hand still. Motoya leans forward enough to feel the heat radiating off of Rintarou’s skin. No amount of cool air could stop Motoya’s mouth from running dry or the pulse in his fingertips. Motoya’s eyes finally leave Rintarou’s hands to find his irises.

“Just wanted to help,” Motoya mumbles under his breath.

He runs the lighter along the seam of the blunt, slow and cautious, eyes glancing down to make sure he’s not burning it or Rintarou. His gaze lingers on Rintarou’s half open eyes. Something inexplicable clicks in Motoya’s head and he pulls back, letting go of Rintarou’s hand and swallowing harshly. He looks down at his hand in his lap, curling it into a fist and flexing it out flat. It feels like he ran the lighter across his palm instead of the blunt.

In the space of a single slow blink, Rintarou has the end of the blunt between his lips and Motoya is already leaning forward with the lighter again. He holds his breath this time, tongue slipping out of his mouth to wet his lips as the flame ignites. The embers flash in a light show as Rintarou inhales slow and long. He passes the blunt over to Motoya while a steady stream of white smoke spills out of his mouth.

The tendrils float around in Motoya’s vision and he so desperately wants to reach out and hold on, disappearing into the atmosphere and carried on a breeze.

The end of the blunt crackles to life again when Motoya relights it and takes his own inhale. The smoke fills his mouth and throat and there’s a distinct smokey burn at the roof of his mouth. He lowers his hand and tilts his head back, closing his eyes. The sensation sits in his mouth for another second before he parts his lips to let the smoke just barely leave. He blows up, inhaling again through his nose. A perfect french inhale.

“Show off,” Rintarou spits.

“Jealous,” Motoya jeers, finally blowing out the smoke and smirking when it wafts across Rintarou’s skin. He involuntarily coughs.

“Karma, bastard.”

There’s no helping the sort of slow, fond smile that grows on Motoya’s face. He shakes his head and taps the end off in the ashtray between them before returning it to Rintarou, lighter in tow this time. He relaxes into the creaky chair and lets his foot slowly drag up Rintarou’s leg. It’s thoughtless but comforting and Motoya begs with everything in him that Rintarou is feeling the same thing.

And so they smoke. Basking in each other’s presence, burning with embers, burning with desire, breathing into the space between them without a moment of hesitation.

Until Motoya’s eyes suddenly snap open like a switch has been flipped.

He narrows his eyes once he settles, tunnel vision set on the end of the blunt and Rintarou raising it to his mouth again. Motoya wouldn’t say he feels anything. He never does. However, that doesn’t change the fact that his body feels like a live wire and his throat is housing a lump that doesn’t really exist and Rintarou’s lips look so, _so_ soft. Motoya’s sure they didn’t look like that earlier but he ignores it for the simple fact that—

“That’s my hit.”

Rintarou’s eyes laze around in his head as he makes eye contact with Motoya. He looks at his hand then back at Motoya and huffs an airy laugh. It’s nearly inaudible but Motoya hears it clearer than he ever has before. Rintarou waves the blunt in front of his face slowly and arches and eyebrow, instigating.

“How badly do you want it?” Rintarou’s voice is edging on playful and it sets off the whirlwind that’s been living in Motoya since he stepped onto the balcony.

Motoya reaches and Rintarou leans back, suddenly on his feet. Cocking his head, Motoya follows suit and chases Rintarou back through the apartment, weaving around furniture and slipping on turns. Motoya catches himself on the kitchen counter and bursts into laughter, loud and bright and all encompassing.

“C’mon, Suna. I’m serious, gimme it,” Motoya chokes out behind waves of giggles, voice cracking on itself.

Rintarou glances over his shoulder and trips over his feet at the sight of Motoya clutching his stomach, cheeks lighting up red, twice as intense as before. He tumbles sideways and lands on the couch in a heap, groaning at the impact on his shoulder. Motoya rights himself and crawls over the arm of the chair just as Rintarou takes the last drag and flicks the roach towards the balcony. Motoya’s hand slips and he catches himself hovering centimeters away from Rintarou, an arm caging Rintarou in from it’s grip on the end of the couch beside his head. Motoya doesn’t even realize he’s gripping Rintarou’s thigh for purchase.

He’s much too distracted by the feral glint in Rintarou’s eyes that appear to be glowing.

“You stole that from me.” Motoya’s voice drops low, yet it’s anything but icy. His breaths fans hot across Rintarou’s cheeks and it’s not hard to see the sheen of sweat matting his bangs to his forehead. “Don’t leave me hanging.”

Motoya comes dangerously close to Rintarou, the distance between them only occupied by something unspoken, and his mouth opens expectantly. Something like blue flame settles at the back of Rintarou’s throat and he reaches up to hold either side of Motoya’s face. His lips part and the flame only grows.

Wisps of smoke escape Rintarou’s mouth and Motoya pulls it into his lungs. The ache cuts through like a knife and fills his whole body with a light, airy feel. Motoya inhales like he was made to take smoke from Rintarou’s mouth and he feels himself desperate to lean forward and close the distance.

He doesn’t. His mind is hazy and his eyes are making the image of Rintarou underneath him slightly blurry and a little too bright.

Leaning back on his haunches, Motoya lets the smoke float past his lips and fade away. Rintarou sits up enough to place his back on the arm of the couch and grabs for his phone in his pocket to play music. A playlist of American songs neither of them know the names to but sounds so much less confusing with a little bit of fog in their brains.

Motoya comes to life, his high wrapping around his limbs and coating him in glowing beauty that fights off the feeling of sun rays lighting up his skin with freckles or dropping sweat across the back of his neck.

“Do you think that,” Motoya starts, twisting to cross his arms on the back of the couch and laying his head along them, smiling a smile so subtle but so shamelessly serene. “The sun knows the beauty and pain it brings to the world?”

Rintarou blinks slowly, letting the words register.

Laughter erupts from somewhere deep in Motoya’s chest before Rintarou is given the chance. He laughs and laughs and once he’s done he laughs some more. It’s melodic and has a raspiness hidden underneath it but it makes anyone melt all the same. “We should go on an adventure. Me and you, Suna.”

“Komori,” Rintarou whispers.

Motoya manages to stand up on the couch, feet sinking awkwardly into the cushions as he regains balance. He points a dramatic finger at Rintarou and Rintarou goes cross-eyed trying to stare at a nail with chipped blue paint. Komori’s eyes are borderline feral as he flashes his canines. “We could explore the world. Hijack a space shuttle and go to the moon and see the sun up close.”

“Komori,” Rintarou tries again, leaning up to sit up straight — well as straight as he can with his shoulders hunched over — and folds his legs in front of him.

“Yeah, I guess we could start smaller. I’m serious though, Suna.” Motoya can’t for the life of him figure out where this explosion came from. It’s the closest thing to a confession he can spare himself, but it ignites him.

Rintarou grabs Motoya’s arm and yanks him back down to his knees so they’re sitting face to face. Motoya’s eyes flick around at a hummingbird’s pace, finally settling on a focus point. The issue is the focus point being directly behind Rintarou’s shoulder instead of his face.

“Komori.” Rintarou’s mouth moves around the syllables like there’s a foreign object. Plastic pieces labeled ‘choking hazard.’

Hearing comes in and out of focus, the soft music playing from Rintarou’s phone blinking in and out of his ears, until Motoya finally locks eyes with Rintarou and grins a smile so broad Rintarou swears he can already taste the salt on his lips. Rintarou’s eyes droop and Motoya leans forward to swipe the matted hair off Rintarou’s face and Rintarou looks back at him and swears he sees sparkles in Motoya’s eyes.

Motoya could make anyone drown with his eyes alone.

“I’m going to do something so stupid.”

“Huh?” Motoya barely gets out before Rintarou surges forward and finally, _finally_ takes Motoya’s lips with his own.

_He’s kissing me._

_We’re kissing._

_Oh._

Oh.

Motoya’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second before they crash shut and his hands find Rintarou’s waist. There’s a sloppy clacking of teeth and then Motoya pulls Rintarou closer, tilts his head, and his entire mouth burns. It burns and nothing has ever felt as good.

Rintarou breathes into Motoya’s mouth again, pulling back and dragging his lips down Motoya’s chin and to the column of his throat. Motoya lets his head fall back and a short laugh bubbles out of him. He slides his hands up Rintarou’s sides, leaving flame in his path. He laughs and Rintarou can feel the vibration buzzing against his lips. Motoya moves to sit up, forcing Rintarou to adjust, and when they’re face to face again Motoya places burning palms on Rintarou’s cheeks and kisses him again.

He kisses until nothing is left behind except ash, cherries, warmth.

“Why the fuck didn’t we do that sooner?” Motoya asks against Rintarou’s lips. They’re just as soft as they look, he reasons.

“I’ve spent too much time around Osamu and Atsumu. Their stupidity is rubbing off on me.”

Motoya snorts and presses his forehead against Rintarou’s. Every new point of contact sets off another crackle of fire. He pulls back to admire the image in front of him. Rintarou with his eyes half lidded, green just barely hidden but gleaming through. He’s close. Close enough to spot the ribbons of wine swimming in the whites of his eyes. A blush rests high on his cheeks and it could be the heat but Motoya knows it’s not.

_Beautiful._

He stands then, sliding off the couch and offering Rintarou a hand when he feels a new wave of air come in through the doors to cool them off. Rintarou takes the hand with slow movements, but he never has a silver of doubt, and Motoya tugs him towards the balcony. Rintarou cages Motoya in from behind, resting a chin on his head while they both look out at a burning sky. Red sweeps across the horizon that sweetly reminds Motoya of the eyeliner Rintarou likes to wear.

The sky is on fire but the air is soothing and Motoya decides that he likes the feeling of flames dancing on his skin if it’s Rintarou who’s igniting them.

**Author's Note:**

> come hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/matsucockwa)


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